The Gift
by elsa3beth
Summary: bookverse  Hornblower and the Crisis  - Hornblower leaves Bush a gift when he departs the Hotspur, and it causes no end of distress for the both of them.


**Title:** The Gift

**Pairing:** Bush, Hornblower (friendship)

**Era: **Hornblower and the Crisis (though onlythe part on the waterhoy _Princess_)

**Summary:** Hornblower leaves Bush a gift when he departs the _Hotspur_, and it causes no end of distress for the both of them.

**Rating:** PG

**Length: **8000 words

**Disclaimer:** H and the Crisis and H and the Hotspur are the property of C.S. Forester. I've interwoven direct quotes and paraphrasing from the book into many parts, not just the intro . . . but that's not plagiarism, that's . . . research.

_From Hornblower and the Crisis. Hornblower has been promoted, and is about to depart the Hotspur:_

Hornblower was expecting the knock on the door, because he had seen through his cabin window enough to guess what was happening outside.

"Waterhoy coming alongside, sir," reported Bush, hat in hand.

"Very well, Mr. Bush." Hornblower was disturbed in spirit and, irritated, had no intention of smoothing Bush's path for him.

"The new captain's on board, sir." Bush was perfectly well aware of Hornblower's mood yet was not ingenious enough to cope with it.

"Very well, Mr. Bush."

But that was simple cruelty, the deliberate teasing of a nearly dumb animal; Hornblower realized that such behaviour really gave him no pleasure and only occasioned embarrassment to Bush. He relented to the extent of introducing a lighter touch into the conversation.

"So now you have a few minutes to spare for me, Mr. Bush?" he said. "It's a change after your preoccupation of the last two days."

That was neither fair nor kind, and Bush showed his feelings in his face.

"I've had my duties to do, sir," he mumbled.

"Getting _Hotspur_ into apple pie order ready for her new captain."

"Yyes, sir."

"Doesn't matter about me, of course. I'm only a back number now."

"Sir—"

Even though he was not in a smiling mood Hornblower could not help smiling at the misery of Bush's expression.

"I'm glad to see you're only human, Mr. Bush, after all. Sometimes I've doubted it. There couldn't be a more perfect First Lieutenant."

Bush needed two or three seconds in which to digest this unexpected compliment.

"That's very good of you, sir. Very kind indeed. But it's been all your doing."

In a moment they would slide down the slippery slopes of sentiment, which would be unbearable.

"Time for me to appear on deck," said Hornblower. "We'd better say goodbye, Mr. Bush. The best of luck under your new captain."

He went so far towards yielding to the mood of the moment as to hold out his hand, which Bush took. Luckily Bush's emotions prevented him from saying more than just "Goodbye, sir," and Hornblower hurried out through the cabin door with Bush at his heels.

HHHHHHHHHH

Once on the waterhoy _Princess_, Hornblower had not even a minute to devote to looking back at the _Hotspur_ as they retreated from her side. There was his sea chest to stow and the guineas for his passage to retrieve. And he must claim a hammock and see to it that everything was properly arranged. Even as a passenger he was not free of duties. But that was for the best, he knew. If given time to dwell on his departure from the _Hotspur_, on the faces of the men he might never see again, he would only make himself miserable.

This point was hove in most forcefully when, once he'd seen to everything and so could let his mind wonder, he inevitably _did_ make himself miserable. He would miss the _Hotspur_, who's moods and peculiarities he'd come to know better than any woman; he would miss the sharp, if pessimistic, mind of Mr. Prowse; he would miss Cargill's red face when it flushed with pride at a well commanded turn. Most of all he would miss Bush, his friend and his perfect officer. He had grown from a naïve lieutenant into a Post Captain with Bush by his side, and it was positively disheartening to think of starting his next command without him.

Yet thinking of Bush now he couldn't help smiling, for he had left a surprise for his friend, and it brought him no little satisfaction to picture Bush's stern face splitting into a grin when he found it. A pleased grin was the only expression Hornblower could picture, of course, for to his mind Bush was a man of few emotions. He was either angry, happy, or so focused on running the ship that he had no room for feelings one way or the other. Hornblower was rather certain that those were the only emotions he ever _wanted_ to see from Bush. It was partly for that reason that he had planned his gift as he had. If he'd given it to Bush right then and there, who knew what expressions it would bring forth. Far better to let him find it after Hornblower had already departed, maybe never to be seen again. That way they could both enjoy it without the awkwardness of the other's presence. That way they could both smile.

Hornblower could never imagine that when Bush found the worn wooden box placed in his hammock by Bailey, he was quite incapable of grinning.

BBBBBBBBBB

Bush had opened it tentatively, thinking perhaps one of the hands had dropped it there by accident, or that someone had mistaken it as belonging to him. He had really only intended to verify its ownership before passing it along to the appropriate seaman or officer. But when his eyes latched on to the bronze object inside he'd instantly recognized it. It was the captain's telescope—the same telescope Bush had seen pointed toward the Loire at the cusp of war, the same telescope that had detected the rise in the waterline of those French ships emptied of men and guns, the same telescope that had tracked the Felicity for a full day as they dogged her rear. It was battered, and the bronze would never shine like the gold guilded eye glasses he'd seen in the hands of rich captains, but it was Hornblower's. Bush was speechless. It was a grand gift—too grand, to Bush's mind, for he knew Hornblower had little enough to spare.

But then his emotions experienced a reversal. This seemed too good to be true because it _was_ too good to be true. Clearly the captain had forgotten this telescope, or misplaced it, and it had been delivered to Bush because whoever had found it hadn't known what to do with it. That must be it. He picked it up. It had been recently polished and even though it was only bronze, it shone in the pale light of the tween deck. He rotated it; held it to his eye; looked at the glass lenses. He was about to place it gently back in the box when a scratch caught his attention. It was inside the rim of the last tube, just far enough from the lip that it hadn't been immediately visible, but still well away from the glass. An engraving. Letters had been carefully etched into the metal, and his eyes traced them as they ran clear round the inside of the tube. 'Lieutenant W. Bush, w' gratitude, H.H.' The engraving wasn't particularly well done—the letters looked more like they'd been scratched off with a sharp nib than professionally carved, but that was even more distressing, for it meant that Hornblower had etched them himself, by his own skilled hand.

Bush was overcome by that same emotion that had swelled in his chest when he'd lain wounded in the hospital and Hornblower had brought him a fruit basket. He felt moisture bead at the corners of his eyes, and stretched his face to fend off any shameful reaction. He had been proud and pleased when the captain had dubbed him a 'perfect Lieutenant', for a compliment by Hornblower was a compliment indeed. But this . . . this un-looked for gift was something else entirely.

Bush carefully returned the precious eye glass to it's padded box, then swung down the lid with equal care. He would treasure it forever, but he could not bare the thought of actually using it. If ever he brought it on deck, it could fall overboard; it could slip and roll into the scuppers; he could drop it and the glass would shatter. No, this was a gift to be cherished, not used. And cherish it he would. Bush smiled when he packed the box neatly into his sea chest, and it was not the grin Hornblower had pictured, but a small, tender, private smile—a smile that revealed just a bit of Bush's glowing heart.

HHHHHHHHHH

Despite the pleasure Hornblower derived from granting Bush this gift and picturing his reception of it, it must be admitted that after that first day's rumination, Hornblower quite forgot about his telescope in the excitement of subsequent events.

First there was the order for him to attend a court martial—Meadows' court martial—and with it the knowledge that the _Hotspur_ had been lost. He had wasted more than an hour in wild speculation, imagining where and in what manner she'd been run aground. Had Meadows ignored the advice of Prowse and Bush? Had there been an enemy vessel in sight? A gale? He agreed with the hoy's captain, Baddlestone, that there must not have been many, if any, men lost with the ship, for there would have been some indication of that in the order.

Then once aboard the _Hibernia _to give testimony, Hornblower was completely consumed by the task. He had to carefully choose his words and statements, even his very behavior. He wanted to give Meadows, and perforce his officers, as much leeway as possible without appearing to do so, and without sounding bombastic. He could give no thought at all to his telescope, of all things, even after spotting Bush beside Meadows. Meadows was to be given a reprimand.

It was not until after Hornblower was back on the _Princess_ and he saw Baddlestone lift a telescope to his eye that Hornblower thought again of his gift. And it was a thought of irritation, for there was a longboat approaching and Hornblower was itching to look through that glass and inspect the new arrivals. If he had not given away his _own_ telescope he wouldn't have to stand impatiently by Baddlestone's side, spouting undignified questions.

Thankfully the telescope was unneeded after a few long minutes of waiting; with the naked eye he could recognize Bush sitting bareheaded in the sternsheets, Meadows beside him. On the next thwart forward were the warrant officers of the late _Hotspur_, and forward beyond those was a jumble of figures he could not identify. With the loss of the _Hotspur_ her officers were being returned to England for other appointments, while presumably the crew had been distributed round the ships of the squadron. It was interesting that Hornblower had thought of his telescope, thought even of his giving it to Bush, but had managed to entirely forget the consequence of that transaction. For as he watched Bush's hatless head draw nearer it dawned on him that Bush must have lost all of his possessions when the _Hotspur_ sank. That was obvious now—so obvious Hornblower was at a loss to explain why it had not occurred to him before. And it was equally obvious, once this connection was made, that Hornblower's telescope was lost forever.

The longboat surged round into the wind and came neatly alongside.

Hornblower glared at it. The realization that his telescope—his only telescope, which he'd foolishly given away in a peak of sentimentality—now lay at the bottom of the sea, made him angry beyond countenance.

"Boat ahoy!" hailed Baddlestone.

"Party with warrants for passage," came Bush's voice in reply. "We're coming aboard."

The sound of Bush's voice gave Hornblower a further focus for his ire, and he shifted his eyes to the face of his former lieutenant. Yet, even with rage clouding his vision, Hornblower could not help but observe how tired Bush looked; how strained. His anger drained from his limbs, and Hornblower was suddenly filled with disgust for himself and only sympathy for his friend. It was unjust to blame Bush for this happenstance. He had no doubt that Bush felt the loss of the telescope just as keenly as Hornblower did, and the telescope was but one of many possessions Bush would never see again. He'd lost his spare uniforms, his compass, his books on seamanship, probably a month's wages or more in coin . . . and he had lost his commission, and his full pay. As soon at the _Hotspur _was abandoned, all officers would have been reduced to half-pay, which was a cruel accompaniment to an already dreadful ordeal. It would be the hight of meanness for Hornblower to be angry at _Bush_ for the loss of that telescope, and he hated himself for his inclination to do so.

As Hornblower came to this conclusion Meadows pulled himself aboard, Bush and the petty officers in tow. Baddlestone gobbled inarticulately for a second or two at this absence of a 'by your leave', but there was nothing he could do with the longboat lashed to the _Princess_. Hornblower hurried forward to make them welcome, though it was only with an effort that he brought himself to address Meadows first.

"Glad to see you again, Captain Meadows," he said. "And you too, Mr. Bush."

Bush had a halfsmile for him; Meadows not as much; he was under the shadow of a reprimand—the final result of that court martial.

Baddlestone watched the encounter with as much cynical amusement as his bulging red face could convey. "Perhaps you gentlemen will be good enough to show me your warrants," he said.

Bush thrust his hand into his breast pocket and produced a sheaf of papers.

"Fifteen if you count them," he replied. "And these are ratings I'm not responsible for."

"You'll be at pretty close quarters," said Baddlestone. "Cabin food a guinea a day, or you can compound for three guineas for the passage."

Meadows did not protest this rate so much as entirely ignore it. "By the terms of your contract you victual ratings at sixpence a day. This voyage you'll victual officers at the same rate, and that's all it's worth." Meadows clearly believed himself to be a man without a future, and so he could be careless about any possible charge of mutiny Baddlestone could bring against him. And too, there were the men behind him. The officers and ratings, who had lost all their worldly goods and their positions, could be counted on to support Meadows if it was to their advantage, and Baddlestone had only seven crew to the longboat's odd thirty.

"I'll see you in the dock, _Mr_. Captain Meadows," Baddlestone at length replied, his voice defiant; but he well knew his position.

Meadows just grunted, then walked aft. He'd arrived at the _Hotspur_ via _Princess_, and it was obvious that he both detested the little ship and was intimately familiar with it. Bush, ever the good officer, had remained behind to supervise the unloading of the longboat. There were several wounded that needed assistance climbing aboard-ratings that had been deemed unfit for service from a missing hand or other extremity. Bush directed several of the more able among them to help those ratings, and then he guided the longboat in shoving off. Only then did he turn and see Hornblower, who had waited patiently behind him through the whole process.

Bush looked surprised and uncomfortable at finding his former captain before him, like he'd just been caught stealing food from the wardroom. His face was at once mournful and apologetic, and he couldn't meet Hornblower's eyes. Hornblower puzzled through this expression in the time it took Bush to mumble a tense, "Sir?"

He concluded that the telescope, which had only been recalled to Hornblower at the longboat's arrival, must have weighed on Bush's mind for far longer. Hornblower narrowed his eyes as he contemplated the best route to follow in order to avoid any uncomfortable emotional displays. He had no wish to bring up that damn telescope—it would only increase the already strained awkwardness between them.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Bush," he settled for saying, "Let's get you a hammock."

Bush's face pinched slightly, as if he had been expecting an admonition, or was on the cusp of saying something but was swallowing his words. He nodded and followed Hornblower below. When they entered the birth where Hornblower's hammock had been situated it was clear that the other men had shared a similar purpose of mind. Baddlestone's purser had brought up a large roll of hammocks from storage, and they were now being strung every which way about the cabin. It was chaos.

Hornblower stood by in surprised irritation for a moment, then raised his voice in a holler of indignation, "Avas there!"

All movement ceased at his angry cry, which was vastly gratifying. "Are you King's officers or street urchins, to find any corner you please and claim it as your own? Mr. Wise, do you still have your pipes?" He had recognized the _Hotspur_'s boatswain as soon as the tumultuous movement about the cabin had ceased. "Call everyone to attention, if you please—I want a single row of men in rank order. _Now_, if you please, Mr. Wise."

The bosun made a shrill whistle on his pipe, wasting no time for an 'aye aye, sir'. In less than twenty seconds the men Hornblower had formerly commanded were in a neat line before him. Including Bush there were 14 officers from the _Hotspur._ The ratings would be on the deck below them, finding hammock space in the dunnage and with the hands belonging to the _Princess_. This cabin, large for a ship of this size, was thirteen, maybe fourteen feet long. But even if they doubled the hammocks one on top of another, that still left only twenty inches to a man. And that was positively uncomfortable to envision, for the cabin was but five feet tall—Hornblower could not even stand to his full hight. But there was nothing for it.

"We will string these hammocks in eight columns, two per column. They will be spaced twenty inches apart. I trust you can estimate the distance?" His voice was scathing and condescending; he made no effort to disguise his displeasure. That his irritation originated not from their disorganization but from his own imagined discomfort at sleeping in such close quarters was apparent to no one but him. "You will birth in order of rank, and set up your hammocks accordingly. Dismissed."

His orders given, Hornblower could not bare to linger. He turned on his heel and went up on deck to pace away his foul mood, his original intention to help Bush quite forgotten. He was so focused on his black thoughts that he did not see Bush join him on deck twenty minutes later. He did not see Bush eye him speculatively, then shift uncomfortably at the conclusion of that examination. He did not see Bush make his way forward as he opted to keep well out of Hornblower's way. Bush did such a good job at avoiding his former captain that Hornblower had no cause to see him at all until after dinner, by which time his mood had significantly improved. In this regard and in others, Bush timed his inevitable conversation with Hornblower well. If he had approached earlier, Hornblower may have cut him off before he could begin, and if he had waited any longer, he would have found himself an inch away from the captain in his hammock, trying to sleep with this thing dangling between them.

There was hardly room for privacy aboard the _Princess_ with so many passengers about, but Hornblower had claimed a back corner of the quarterdeck as his own, and Bush called out a warning before he trespassed on that space.

"Sir? Can I speak with you, sir?"

Hornblower was rather startled at this interruption, forgetting, as he had, that there was anything to discuss between him and Bush. But it came back to him in a rush when he caught sight of Bush's anguished face. This was going to be a most uncomfortable conversation.

"Ha-h'mm. What is it, Mr. Bush?"

"Sir—I—I must thank you, sir, for the telescope. It meant a great deal to me."

Bush looked at him somewhat expectantly, and Hornblower thought it best to be cavalier, "Think nothing of it, Mr. Bush. It was a pleasure serving with you." He could not quite manage a smile, but his tone was light enough.

But Bush was not done. "Thank you sir," he replied, then seemed to nerve himself, "I'm sorry, sir. I'm sorry, but it's been lost, sir. It was in my sea chest when the _Hotspur_ went down-it doesn't mean any less to me, but-but I'm terribly sorry, sir."

Hornblower forced himself to keep his face immobile during this confession, for it very much wanted to compress into a frown. He must not get angry at Bush—there was no _reason_ to get angry at Bush, but dammit—it was beyond irritating that his glass should be at the bottom of the sea, and there was no reason for Bush to remind him of it! And what was that telescope doing in Bush's sea chest? Had it not been good enough for him to use on deck? Had he been too embarrassed by the dents and uneven writing to carry it in his jacket pocket where he could easily reach it?

There was a distinct growl to his voice as he forced himself to say "It is not your fault, Bush." He turned his head away from Bush in what could only be read as a dismissal. There was nothing more be to said, to Hornblower's mind, and he really had no wish to converse further. Bush, too stubborn to acknowledge this clear motion, struggled on, "Sir—Maybe it isn't my fault, but I'm sorry all the same. T'isn't fair, and I can only wish that I still had it with me."

"Carry on, Mr. Bush."

Bush finally went, albeit reluctantly, and Hornblower was left to his misery. When he dragged himself to the lower cabin two bells later, Bush was asleep and snoring in his hammock. He was wearing only his shirt, having nothing but the one set of clothes he'd arrived in to wear for the entire sail to port. It was early to be asleep, but Bush was not alone, and it was obvious that the officers of the _Hotspur_ had been uniformly drained by their ordeal. As before, the sight of his friend so tired, and distressed even in sleep, stripped Hornblower of his anger, leaving him feeling even worse than his original vexation had. He crawled into his hammock under Meadows and tried not to think of the weight of bodies surrounding him. When the ship rolled and Bush inevitably pressed against him he felt no irritation, only guilt.

He sought to make amends in the morning, but a man's property is a very delicate subject, and Hornblower was put in some difficulty trying to approach the matter circumspectly.

"Mr. Bush, are you to go to London directly, or will you report to the port admiral?"

It was a needless question. Admirals themselves could only appoint officers under the most extreme of circumstances, so commissions and postings only ever came from the admiralty. It was just possible, Hornblower told himself, that news of the court martial would go before them and the admiralty would send orders to the port admiral in advance, but it was a very slim possibility.

Bush, however, saw nothing wrong in the question, "I'm to go to London, sir. Though the petty officers will be stopping at Plymouth, or whatever port we catch."

Hornblower grunted in his typical uncommunicative fashion while he searched for an appropriate comment. "I suppose the admiral gave you all a loan from the _Hibernia_'s purse?"

"Yes, sir. To be deducted from our pay when we arrive." That, too, was a question Hornblower had already known the answer to.

"Will you request a ship of the line?"

Bush frowned. "You know, I hadn't really thought of it, sir. I suppose I'll have to take what I can get."

It occurred to Hornblower that Bush, freed of his commission, could follow Hornblower to whatever ship he was awarded. Hornblower almost smiled at the thought, but he reigned in his excitement. A moment later he was glad he had, for it was not a well thought out notion. It could be a year or more before a ship became available that was worthy of the lowest captain on the list, and it was asking too much of Bush to wait that long.

"Ha-h'mm," Hornblower cleared his throat in discomfort at what he must say, "You know, Mr. Bush, that if there is anything I can do for you, you have only to ask."

This took Bush quite by surprise, "Sir?"

"You lost all of your possessions with your sea chest?"

"A-yes, sir," Bush replied, still uncertain, "All my most valuable possessions were in my chest." Bush looked positively miserable at this remembrance, and Hornblower felt miserable with him. He realized then, that Bush had kept his telescope in that sea chest not because he was ashamed of it, but because he'd valued it too much to take on deck. Hornblower felt twice the villain for having suspected otherwise. He pushed a bit more warmth into his voice when he repeated his offer.

"If there is anything you have need of during our passage home, you have only to ask."

"Sir?" The possibility of sharing his captain's possessions was so inconceivable to Bush that he was still clearly in some confusion.

"For example, if you find yourself in need of a razor, you may borrow mine. Similarly, if you require pen and paper to commit some correspondence to your sisters, you are welcome to my supply."

Bush's mouth hung open in astonishment when he finally understood what Hornblower was offering. That was a ridiculous expression for Bush to wear. "Oh don't look so scandalized, Bush. I'm not your commander anymore."

"Y-yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

Hornblower huffed and fought the urge to roll his eyes. Bush would probably grow a full beard before he'd dare ask for the captain's razor.

That assertion became a certainty later that same day when Hornblower joined Meadows at the bowsprit to speculate on the sails on the horizon. The wind had been still all morning, leaving them bobbing uselessly near the coast of France, so it was no surprise that they would catch sight of other ships belonging to the blockading fleet. Meadows was busy with his telescope, directing it from one ship to the next. Hornblower could not decide whether the other captain was being deliberately cruel or merely unintentionally cruel with his unwillingness to share that enlayed instrument. He was forced to stand uselessly by Meadows' side, squinting across the bright ocean, and shooting wistful and irritated looks at his companion. After fifteen minutes of this unbearable exercise, he decided to leave Meadows to his self absorption.

It was as he turned that Hornblower caught sight of Bush watching him from the foremast. His eyes were positively mournful—his entire face drooping in an expression of abject misery. He walked away the moment he felt Hornblower's eyes move in his direction, but it had not been soon enough. It took several minutes for Hornblower to come up with a suitable excuse for this behavior; he had, after all, been doing nothing more unusual than gazing out across the sea.

Suddenly it came to him—Bush must have noticed his jealous glances at Meadow's telescope. But they had settled all that nonsense, had they not? Bush had already apologized, and he was well aware that they were now both without a telescope. Then in a flash of understanding he conceived of the answer. It was just possible that Bush had not known that the gift had been Hornblower's _only_ telescope. In his innocence Bush might have assumed that Hornblower had another—that Hornblower could afford to be generous because he had a second eye glass stowed away. Hornblower of course had never had the money for such a redundancy, but he supposed some captains must. And Bush could be amazingly obtuse about such things.

That look on Bush's face had been unbearable, and it neatly counteracting Hornblower's urge to be petulant now. This friendship of theirs was entirely too much effort, and Hornblower was more certain than ever that Bush would never ask him for a favor or a loan, even should his life depend upon it.

"Good morning, Mr. Bush."

"Good morning, sir."

"Wind's still backing north."

"Indeed, sir. It will be a wonder if we reach Plymouth by month's end."

It was the fourth day of their journey, and Bush and Hornblower had settled into an uneasy camaraderie in which no mention was ever made of a telescope. That was hardly a challenge, given that they were in open water with nothing to look at—and it left them free to worry about more mundane considerations. Bush's uniform was beginning to look a little worse for the wear to Hornblower's eye, and his face, with five days of stubble, had quite transformed. The petty officers were in a similar situation, but several had decided that a good washing was worth the indignity of standing naked on deck for the hour or more it required for their woolen clothes to dry. Bush had not yet been impelled take this step, and Hornblower, recalling the look in his friend's eye that first day, seized on a momentary bout of pity to offer up an unsolicited proposition.

"Mr. Bush, it occurs to me that you might well have to wear that uniform for another ten days at least."

"Why, yes sir, I suppose I will," there was a slight rebuke in Bush's tone, for it was rude to make a point of his new poverty, even considering Hornblower's offer of several days ago.

Hornblower continued blithely, "I mean no offense, Bush. But it comes to mind that there is an easy solution to your problem. You could borrow _my_ spare uniform while you wash your own. I fancy I could even persuade Bailey to wash it for you."

Bush wore an unreadable expression similar to the one Hornblower had been graced with when he'd single handedly put out a 5lb shell on the deck of the _Hotspur._ Some combination of surprise and admiration that Hornblower had never been capable of appreciating. But it was too grand an offer for Bush to accept. "That's very kind of you, very kind of you indeed, sir. But I couldn't possibly impose on you."

"It's no imposition at all, Bush—I can't possibly wear two uniforms at the same time, and it would only be for an hour or two."

"But you're a _commander_, sir, a post captain, even. it would be wrong to-"

"Without the epaulette my uniform looks quite the same as yours; if anything it looks a good deal more worn!" Hornblower flushed at this admission, and instantly regretting saying it. He was beginning to regret making this suggestion at all-the simple loan of a jacket was not supposed to imperil his dignity so.

Bush saw his discomfort, and sought to rectify it despite his reticence. "I'd be honored if I could borrow your clothes for the afternoon, sir. If you're sure it's not trouble."

Hornblower grunted. Then he turned and went below, Bush at his heels.

BBBBBBBBBB

To say that Bush felt uncomfortable wearing Hornblower's uniform would be to understate his feeling on the matter by some measure. Hornblower's trousers were narrow at the waist and long in the leg, and his jacket was entirely too tight across the chest. Yet it wasn't the physical dimensions of the clothing that bothered Bush—that was only to be expected. It was the breach in etiquette this loan introduced to the long standing relationship of captain and lieutenant. Between the telescope, the razor that had been thrust upon him as soon as they went below, and this uniform, Bush hardly knew how to look at Hornblower. The man had even gone so far as to induce Bailey to wash his clothes!

Bush knew the captain was angry at the loss of the telescope, as well he deserved to be. Bush was miserable every time he thought of it. But if he was angry at Bush, why all the grand gestures? With each act of kindness on Hornblower's part, Bush's misery was compounded, for it seemed to mark his failure all the greater.

It was in this dark mood that Bush returned to the deck, only to feel a slight breeze on his face. His eyes immediately rose to scan the horizon and he spotted clouds in the distance, two points to starboard. Thoughts of the telescope and the awkwardness of his new uniform flew completely out of his mind as, like every good seaman, he devoted his full attention to the change in the wind.

He looked to Hornblower and saw a similar focus of expression. Bush couldn't restrain the trivial comment that issued from his mouth, "I'd give something to know what the glass is doing. Maybe it's dropping, sir."

"Shouldn't be surprised," said Hornblower.

Prowse joined them, and he looked almost displeased that the wind was veering in their favor. No doubt his innate pessimism had not allowed for such a boon.

Hornblower turned to the mate marking the traverse board.

"What's the course, Mister?" asked Hornblower.

"Nor' by East half North."

"Just another point or two's all we need," Bush said. He knew as well as Hornblower that clouds and a northeast wind at this latitude nearly always presaged heavy weather.

"Hope's cheap enough, sir," Prowse hedged, but he was as caught up in the change as Bush was.

They could feel the shift in the _Princess_ now—she was pushed over on her lee side, and while a northeast wind was hardly the best wind when you're making for a northern heading, it was quite an improvement from the stagnant air of the last several days. It was better still when the wind veered yet farther round, and then came the moment when Bush struck one fist into the palm of the other hand.

"We're running a point free!" he exclaimed. With wind slightly on her quarter, the _Princess_ could finally get clear of the coast of France, and make for the channel.

Bush turned to share the moment with Hornblower, all distance forgotten, but Hornblower had a pinched look on his face. Bush was at a loss to explain it. The men were singing gaily, and he was very much tempted to join in-'Farewell and adieu, to you Spanish ladies, Farewell and adieu, to you ladies of Spain!' But Hornblower looked almost pained, and his smile, when one carved it's way onto his face, was strained. It never occurred to Bush that Hornblower discomfort had its source in the music grating on his ears—it was too strange a notion that a man could listen to that tune and hear only noise. Instead Bush looked for another excuse, and he found it in the form of Meadows, who stood in isolation by the mainmast, just within Hornblower's line of sight. Hornblower must have noticed the dour expression on the commander's face, and with his curious sympathy of character, he had been made unhappy by the other man's unhappiness. Bush himself couldn't help but feel a tad guilty, for here he was chattering away with his former captain, while his current captain remained alone.

Bush's hypothesis was confirmed when Hornblower suddenly made his way over to Meadows and began conversing. Bush studied the two. Hornblower had a peculiar artificiality to his expression, like he was putting on a show, but Meadows was too depressed to see it as an act. Even so, Hornblower spoke with animation, and Bush found himself jealous of the attention. The captain would be entirely unsuccessful in his attempt to cheer the man, Bush knew. Meadows was not a man who listened to the opinions of others; Bush and Prowse had come to that understanding at great pain and even greater cost.

Bush was pulled from his inspection, and Hornblower and Meadows from their stilted conversation, by a hail from one of the forward seamen.

"Sail ho! Two points on the weather bow!"

It was a brig, Bush saw, no more than five or six miles away and in plain view, close hauled on the port tack on the _Princess_'s starboard bow, on a course that would apparently come close to intercepting the course of the _Princess_ within the hour. Her canvas was unusually white, and her masts seemed oddly spaced. Bush would bet coin she wasn't a British vessel, and his uncertainty bore out a second later when Meadows swore, "Frenchman!"

This arrival of this brig was so sudden that Bush was at a loss to explain it, and the rest of the crew seemed similarly immobile.

"Where's Baddlestone?" exclaimed Hornblower, and Bush saw him turn to look aft. They both caught sight of the _Princess's_ captain at the same time, his stout figure moving up and down with the now jouncing deck, his telescope trained on the brig. Meadows and Hornblower immediately made to join him, and Bush watched them go. In a matter of moments his curiosity compelled him to walk aft as well.

He arrived amidst an argument. It seemed Meadows felt it his right as senior captain to take command of the _Princess_, which was quite a ridiculous notion to Bush's honest mind. Any fool could see that Baddlestone knew how to handle his ship, and while Meadows might have earned his epaulette earlier than Hornblower, Hornblower was a post captain in all but writing. Bush had read the King's Regulations and Admiralty Instructions through and through, but while he knew every stipulation by heart, he could not always understand them. Clearly Hornblower did, for he firmly supported Baddlestone's authority, while maintaining a stiff deference to Meadows. It made Bush ill to see his great captain forced into this position of subservience. If the other two had had the fortune to serve with Hornblower for any length of time they would know, as Bush did, that their best hope lay in giving Hornblower free reign.

Baddlestone had taken the ship about so that she was on the same heading as the brig, wind fully on her quarter, but a hoy could never hope to catch the wind as a brig, and the distance was noticeably closing between them. Bush rather agreed with Baddlestone that their only hope was to keep ahead of her guns until dark fell.

Of course it would be Hornblower who came up with a better plan, and Hornblower who phrased his idea in such a way that Meadows became sure it was his own.

"We've thirty men," said Hornblower. "They won't think we've more than half a dozen—"

"By God, we could board her!" exclaimed Meadows, the filthy oaths which had been ceaselessly issuing from his mouth ending abruptly.

Bush, knowing the idea was Hornblower's, could not entertain any doubts, but he would admit to some uneasiness at this prospect. That brig could hold more than ninety men, and while Bush was not a gambling man, three to one odds hardly seemed favorable. Yet he had faith. When Hornblower ordered everyone out of sight, and Baddlestone ordered no man to show their colors, Bush joined the men crouching on the deck. And when Hornblower, under Meadows' authority, outlined the cutting out expedition, Bush listened.

As soon as night fell the _Princess_ hove to, and the brig, as expected, sent a boarding party by longboat. Bush heard Hornblower call a greeting in French, and then he heard the tell tale splashes of bodies falling into the water and a quickly muted cry of agony. He felt his blood rise in excitement and with that frenzy upon him he yearned to join the battle. But his responsibility lay elsewhere.

Bush had the line to the hoy's boat in hand when Hornblower ran aft to meet the group of men clustered there. It was a simple matter to then hold the line while the others clambered in, and Bush easily slipped onto the forward-most thatch once the boat filled. Then he was rowing. Some officers might find irritation at this necessity, but with only a handful of ratings aboard the Princess and more than fifteen officers, there was no question of refusing. And Bush enjoyed the exercise—the feel of the oar beneath his hands, the joy in creating forward motion with the strength in his arms instead of the strength of the wind. He was almost surprised when they reached the side of the Brig, but his surprise was quickly supplanted by that same fire in his blood at the thought of their next move. A pistol went off, and Bush knew Meadows and the longboat crew must have reached the brig's deck. Hornblower ordered the men up the side. Every man aboard suddenly reached for the shrouds, and Bush had to beat his paddle against the water to stabilize the boat.

So it was that after tying off the line—an act that had been left to him alone-he was the last man aboard the brig. They had come up her port side amidships, and Bush, seeing things well in hand on the fo'c'sle, made for the quarterdeck. As one of the few ranking officers he'd been given a cutlass out of the _Princess's _limited weapon's store, and Bush put it to full use when he came to the wheel. A French petty officer was standing uncertainly beside the dial, clearly torn between joining the fray and remaining at his station. Bush charged him, and was glad he did, for upon seeing the British officer baring down on him he produced a hidden pistol from his waist band. Bush twisted to the side even as he extended his blade, and felt a rip in his coat from the strain of the movement. Nonetheless, the motion likely saved his life, for the gun went off before he could slash the man down with his blade.

As the body of the petty officer crumpled to the deck his jacket fell open, and Bush caught a glimpse of something metallic and tube shaped protruding from his trouser pocket. Bush would ordinarily not have bothered to investigate further, but he could see with a quick glance around him that the battle was over. Hornblower and Baddlestone could be identified amidship, and some effort was clearly being made to close the hatches. It was the sight of Hornblower, tall and thin, but inexpressibly commanding as he stood surveying his new domain, that prompted Bush to look again at the fallen man. He pulled the shiny object from it's hold. It was a telescope. Dented and scratched, to be sure, but Bush held a bronze telescope in his hands. A smile came to his lips, and it was as if a great weight had lifted from his chest. He slipped the invaluable eye piece into jacket.

HHHHHHHHHH

Hornblower was rather pleased with himself when he joined Bush by the foremast the following morning. They'd had too few men to take the brig as a prize, but it was sufficient to cut her rigging and leave her a locked down wreck. And he hadn't come off that deck empty handed. The French captain had not had time to throw his confidential papers overboard, so that Hornblower had collected an impressively large packet to deliver to the admiralty. And it_ would _be he who delivered the papers, for Meadows had died in the action.

All in all, there was quite a bit to be pleased about, so while it was Bush who had asked Hornblower to join him on deck, it was Hornblower who started the conversation. "I fancy your reception at White Hall might go a bit better than you were expecting, after last night's action." He said this with a smile, so that Bush would not take it as a jibe, and Bush's face split into a grin. It seemed the excitement had done as much for his spirits as it had for Hornblower's.

"I expect so, sir. Imagine their faces if we'd been able to sail her in."

Hornblower had envisioned that scene, but only for the brief moment he had stood on the deck of the brig calculating the spread of men it would require to sail both the _Princess _and the French ship. He had no wish to revisit that decision now, for the thought of all that prize money out of his grasp when he was so soon to be confronted by his poverty ashore was disheartening. He redirected the conversation.

"It was fortunate in more ways than reputation, Mr. Bush. We were able to take some things from the captain's cabin before we quit her."

"Gold, sir?" Bush's eyes were wide, and Hornblower frowned at his obtuseness.

"No no no. Papers, Mr. Bush. Secret documents."

"Oh. That's excellent news, sir."

"Ha-h'mm." Hornblower stared at Bush until the man shifted uncomfortably. Then he could contain draw out the suspense no longer. "Well there was one other item."

Bush looked confused, but when Hornblower reached into his jacket and pulled out the item he spoke of, the look changed to surprise, then pleasure, then . . . amusement. Bush was positively laughing with his eyes, and Hornblower found his own mouth, momentarily spread into a grin, flatten into a line. He was on the cusp of barking some indication of his displeasure when Bush actually did laugh! But then Bush reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out what could have been the twin to Hornblower's proffered gift. It was a telescope. Hornblower snorted, and then he was laughing with Bush. And looking between the telescope in his hand and the telescope in Bush's hand, he continued laughing—laughing so long that the other passengers were beginning to look their way in concern. He forced himself to stop.

"Well, Mr. Bush, it appears you have procured a gift worthy of a captain, and I a gift worthy of a—what was it, a master's mate?"

"You wound me, sir! I'm no good at those Frenchie uniforms, of course, but I like to think he was at least a young gentleman."

That deserved another laugh, for Hornblower well knew Bush's dislike for the _Hotspur_'s young gentlemen.

"Very well, Mr. Bush, I will treasure it always. And perhaps you will keep this one on your person," he said as they exchanged instruments.

Bush looked properly chagrined, and then his face fell, as if at a sudden memory.

"Sir? There's something I meant to tell you last night, sir."

Hornblower raised an eye at the sudden change in tone, but nodded for Bush to proceed.

"Well, sir, it's . . . well . . . it's your uniform, sir."

"What about my uniform?"

"It's . . . I'm sorry, sir, but it's been ripped, sir."

"Ripped?" Hornblower was quite incapable of enlightened speech.

"Yes, sir. When I fought with that . . . young gentleman. It ripped right out of the shoulder. I'm so sorry, sir. I had Bailey mend is as best he could and stow it in your sea chest, but all the same, I'm sorry sir."

Hornblower lifted a hand to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. Perhaps it was not such a grand day after all.

He must remember never to give Bush _anything_ ever again.


End file.
